Skyrim through the eyes of a Misanthrope
by Thefirstruleofwriteclubis
Summary: An awkward, gangly guardswoman is suddenly catapulted into the big leagues when she is ordered to be Housecarl to some manner of dragon-slaying super-warrior. She doesn't mind the extra workload or the fact that nobody appears to be paying her for this service, but she IS terrified that it might involve talking to strangers...
1. Chapter 1: Who Houses the Housecarl?

_Author's Introduction:_

 _Hi readers! Thought I'd pop in with a new story focusing on the actual **fiction** part of the fanfiction process. I usually prefer the world-building to the actual plot, but this story is a way to try and expand the latter while making the former a little more sub-textual. I'd appreciate any thoughts on characterisation and lore interpretation you might have, or even if you just plain didn't like something. It's all useful to me._

 _That being said, this is a story about Lydia first and foremost. She always felt like the only character in Skyrim who had something approaching a personality, even if that entire personality was only contained in the sarcastic delivery of Colleen Delany. She took two and a half lines and spun them into a persona. Maybe I was just so desperate to find some hint of deeper characterisation, but I've always kept Lydia around in my playthroughs, her world-weary grumbling breathes a little bit of life into an otherwise dull series on interactions.  
_

 _That being said, one cannot write decent dialogue with only one character, so I've taken this opportunity to add in a few people who didn't exist in Skyrim but sorely needed to._

 _First of all: Wutra the Quartermaster. The Jarl's guardsmen all use relatively uniform equipment, presumably requisitioned and stored in a central place so that it can be kept track of. Ergo the Quartermaster, who occupies a basement in one of Whiterun's two guard barracks (the barracks exist, the basements do not...). None of the Guardsmen have homes of their own, so it stands to reason that they all stay in the barracks._

 _There are not enough beds in these barracks, so they must hot-bunk. Ergo, Wutra also looks after personal effects and even money for those Guardsmen who don't want to have their fellow Guardsmen too close to their life's savings._

 _Honestly, I wrote this story to ask one question and one question only:_

 _Where are all the toilets?_

 _Are the people of Whiterun just pooping into their hands and tossing it at the river?_

 _Not a single commode in all of Skyrim? The Thalmor are right, we should just burn it all down..._

 _RIFTEN HAS A SEWER SYSTEM BUT NO TOILETS?!_

 _UNACCEPTABLE._

* * *

Lydia hurriedly packed the last of her meagre possessions into a sack, awkwardly adjusting her armour as she went. She was used to the mail cuirass of her guard uniform and had been gifted this unconscionably heavy plate by her Aunt Tilda two winters ago. Honestly, it was a little too ungainly for her to be _truly_ comfortable, but a gift is a gift and it wasn't like she could afford her own… She had been pulled from her regular rotation at the Jarl's request, Commander Caius had told her to report to the Great Hall of Dragonsreach itself for her new orders.

She had no notion of what to expect, but suspected it had something to do with the Dragon that had been sighted flying westward a few hours ago. Although… it also _might_ be something to do with the fact that the Throat of the World had started screaming random words, come to think of it.

No matter, she would simply have to find out when she got there. Having placed all of her remaining trinkets into a burlap sack, she went to the armoury and spoke with the Quartermaster, Wutra. A stocky man who had been taken off guard duty due to a weak constitution. He huffed and heaved everywhere he went and smelt badly of stale smoke. He was puffing on his signature pipe while polishing a nasty-looking halberd.

"Where did you even _get_ that?" She asked incredulously, having never seen such a ridiculous weapon in all her life. Wutra only smiled, his black and yellow teeth oddly menacing in their decrepitude.

"Trader from High Rock came through about a month ago, said he used to be a guardsman in Camlorn, and that they all get one of these. It's like a battle-axe, but you can give some bugger the chop without gettin' out of your chair. So naturally I thought it'd be just the thing for giving you milk-drinkers a good seeing to when you don't keep your gear in check."

He smiled and continued to wheeze, puffing on his foul weeds with every sign of contentment.

"Whatever makes you happy, I suppose… Do you want me to give you some 'alone time' with your new lady from Camlorn?" Lydia replied facetiously, well aware of Wutra's obsession with obscure or useless weaponry.

"You think I'd biwack with a lady in _this_ pit? I'm a man of class and distinction, young Lydia! I'd take her round the back of the Battle-borns' place and do it in the bushes there like any fine gentleman would!"

He laughed filthily, then started coughing wetly. After smearing something _alarmingly_ moist on his shirt, he re-lit his pipe with a happy smile.

"So, what brings you to me then lass?" He asked jovially, and Lydia placed the burlap sack on the table in front of him.

"I've been told to report to Dragonsreach and to be prepared for travel, so I was hoping that you could store my things until I return?" Lydia felt a little awkward asking, but it wasn't like she had anywhere else she could go… Wutra rubbed his chin pensively, seeming to give the question a great deal of thought.

"I suppose so, but don't you got anyone else in town who could look after your things?" He said, knowing the answer already…

"You're right, I should take my business elsewhere… It's a _big_ job asking an experienced quartermaster to stuff a sack into a corner all by himself. I should go and get some of the boys to help you." She spoke pithily, disliking his less than subtle conjecture. Wutra only laughed croakily, quite used to her acerbic wit in a way that many others were not.

" _Alright_ , woman. I'll take the sack and square it away for you, but you could stand to be a little more sociable. You've lived here for three years and there isn't any one of us who knows the first thing about you! A girl your age should be out at the tavern at nights, or perhaps out walking with a young man?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at this thought, his voice taking on a salacious tone.

"What about that young lad from the night's watch? I've seen him cast his eyes over you once or twice, when he thinks no-one's looking."

Lydia's eyes bulged at this, Wutra's famous weakness for any kind of gossip had a habit of drawing you in.

"That one with the red hair? _Gods, no!_ He's always got his head buried in books. What in Oblivion's name would we even _talk_ about?!"

Wutra slapped his solid belly as he let out another barking laugh.

"From what I recall, we never did all that much talking when I was out walking with a lady. Maybe they do it differently nowadays?"

He guffawed lecherously and took the sack, depositing it on a nearby shelf to be sorted later. Lydia wrinkled her nose at the thought of a young Wutra out on the prowl and stuck out her tongue in distaste.

"Well, at least I won't need to take another meal today… On that profound thought. I'll get going. They'll probably want me at Dragonsreach before too long…" She turned around to leave Wutra to his work and was surprised when he called after her.

"Lydia, don't you be a stranger, you hear? Travelling is one of the greatest things a woman can do at your age, but only if she opens her mind and her heart to it. If you travel the length of the world with your eyes shut, you may as well have stayed home."

She didn't look back, but she was surprisingly touched by the thought. She made a show of nonchalantly waving her arm behind her, shrugging off his advice.

"Yeah, yeah… I hear you." She said without much conviction.

"Think on it, girl. You'll have plenty of time for thinking on the road, I promise you that much." He replied with his trademark joviality. She slinked off to make her way up to the Great Hall before anyone else could comment on her serial misanthropy.

* * *

"Lydia, there you are." Came Commander Caius' strong voice as she left the barracks. She stood at attention and her eyeline was naturally drawn to the shining pate of his bald head, given that she was a good few inches taller than him. His training of the Whiterun Guard was heavily influenced by his time in the Imperial Legion, so all guardsmen were taught to stand at attention when he was addressing them.

Lydia looked at her own reflection shining back at her as the warm sun drew a sheen of sweat from her commanding officer's brow.

"I'll walk up to Dragonsreach with you, it'll save time. Let's go." He turned without another word and started off towards the castle at the top of the city, and Lydia quickly moved to join him.

"Commander, if you don't mind my asking… What _exactly_ are my orders?"

Caius took a moment before answering, no doubt suppressing the urge to berate her for some obscure breach of military protocol.

"Well Guardsman, you're being promoted."

Lydia's brow creased in concern. Promoted to what? You were either a Guardsman, or a Commander of the Guard… There wasn't a particularly nuanced bureaucracy inherent to the job…

"Sir?" She replied confusedly, allowing the single syllable to convey her whole line of thinking.

"The Jarl is appointing a new Thane, and a Thane needs a Housecarl. You're the best person I could think of for the job, so I put your name forward and the Jarl's advisors agreed."

The Commander abrupted turned to her, awkwardly sticking a hand out. She shook it numbly, still not sure of the protocol in these situations.

"Congratulations." He said without enthusiasm, then continued up the hill as if nothing had happened. Lydia followed with a perplexed look on her face, knowing what her new responsibilities were but not why she had been selected to carry them out.

"Thank you, Sir. If I may ask, who precisely am I housecarl _to?_ "

The Commander huffed angrily, clearly being vexed by some part of the situation.

"I don't know precisely. Some manner of travelling warrior who went with the detachment to the Western Watchtower. The scumble is that they slew a dragon that had set fire to the place. We're only getting the news secondhand, as they went straight to the Jarl as soon as they returned. I know as much as you do at this point…"

Caius clearly bristled at not being the centre of attention in military matters, but that was no problem for Lydia. She could quite happily evade the attention of others for weeks at a time without any adverse effects. Indeed, it was her preferred state of being. Caius pushed open the twin doors of the Great Hall with a grandiose flourish, when one would have _clearly_ been sufficient. Lydia could tell that the Guardsmen at the doors were rolling their eyes under their helmets.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw them close the doors behind them with a small but distinct shake of the head.

Caius was too wrapped up in his own world to notice such pedestrian things however, and he pointed forcefully at a spot on the ground in the entryway.

"Stand here, they'll no doubt be wrapping up soon. I'm sure you'll be able to pick out your new Thane, they travelled here alone…"

Lydia gave a textbook Imperial salute, something that few other Guardsmen had managed to master. This sort of thing impressed Caius greatly, and it showed. His look shifted from irritation to quiet respect, and he returned the salute crisply.

"It has been a pleasure serving with you, Guardsman Lydia. I wish you all the best in your future endeavours." He nodded resolutely and marched off, pulling both of the doors open once again in a dramatic way. As the two guardsmen once again closed it behind him, one couldn't help but whisper to the other.

"What a pile of Scrib jelly…"

Lydia carefully said nothing in response, lacking the anonymity of a helmet to protect her from a dressing-down. She checked her things one last time as the sounds of forceful conversation drifted down from the Throne Room. She immediately recognised the voice of Hrongar, which was liable to shake the teeth in your head even at low volumes. Balgruuf was slightly quieter but no less distinctive, and he was currently waxing lyrical about something or other. Probably some important piece of esoteric knowledge that Farengar had attempted to explain to him earlier, likely with little success…

She took the time to think about what kind of person she would now be serving… A slayer of Dragons, no less... She could not help but picture a Nord. Some barrel-chested berserker, covered in hair coarser than a Khajiiti rug with all the table manners of a wild Goat…

Yes, that'd be _just_ the sort of person she would expect. Some foul-smelling mercenary sort with a battleaxe and mead-breath, who'd pick a fight with a stormcloud if he thought it was looking at him funny…

Oh, what unending joy _that_ would be…

"Excuse me, would you happen to be my new… 'House-Carl'?"

The voice drew Lydia out of her reverie with a sickening lurch. _That didn't sound very berserker-like?_ Nor did she detect the mead-breath that by now would be a thick fog sinking deeply into her clothes. She turned with mild apprehension to the source of the sound.

Instead of the hairy barrel-chested Nordic stereotype, a positively waifish figure stood with perfect poise in front of her. Unblemished yellow skin was mostly shrouded in surprisingly colourful travel robes. That left only a slim face, with two green eyes that looked to be the size of dinner plates to Lydia's reckoning. A thick shock of bright blonde hair fell over two excessively pointed ears, which twitched and moved to accentuate her movements. Two thin but expressive lips smiled politely, and her hands were clasped demurely over each other.

It was unmistakable. This was no lady, this was a _Lady_.

"Uhh… Yes, my Thane. I am Lydia, selected by the Jarl to be your Housecarl. It is… an honour to serve you."

Lydia resisted the urge to salute reflexively, almost withering under the relentlessly friendly gaze of the Elf. An almost impossibly delicate hand was offered, and Lydia hurriedly shucked off her glove in order to respond. She gently took the small hand in her own, afraid to damage the immaculate cuticles.

"What a _pleasure_ to make your acquaintance, Miss Lydia. I am Lilielle Elsinore, formerly of the Camlorn Conservatoire."

Lydia stood in silent shock, oddly self-conscious about her rough, calloused hands. After a moment she realised that the handshake had gone on for _far_ too long and she tore the hand away, pulling her glove back on with an embarrassed look.

"Thank you, Miss… Elsinore?"

The Elf smiled disarmingly, flashing brilliantly white teeth at her.

"Oh _heavens_ , if we're going to be travelling together, I simply _must_ insist that you call me Lily. _Everybody_ does. If I may enquire, what precisely _is_ a House-Carl?"

She pronounced the word as if she were tasting it, searching for some deeper significance or meaning that she wasn't yet getting.

"Oh, well as my Thane I'm sworn to your service. I'll guard you and all that you own with my life." Lydia responded as if by rote, trying to regain some of her rapidly escaping dignity. Lily only clasped a hand to her chest in surprise, her enormous eyes as round as saucers.

"Well I should hope that it doesn't come to _that_ at any point! However, I believe I understand your meaning. You are something approximating a Seneschal, yes?"

Lydia honestly had no idea whether she was 'approximating' anything, but needed to sound just a _little_ bit smarter than she actually was…

"That would be an accurate comparison, my Thane." She said with a stony clarity that she patently did not possess.

Lily clapped her hands with excitement, her pearlescent smile seeming to cast an extra ray of sunlight around the room.

"Oh, how _gallant!_ How very gallant indeed! Like a Knight of old High Rock come to life! I am sure we shall get along _marvellously_ , Lydia. Now, as my first order of business, I shall need to obtain some supplies in town and find suitable lodgings for the night. Can you recommend ways to obtain either?"

Lydia shook off her own paralysis long enough to consider the question, then nodded firmly. Now _this_ was something that she could do.

"Yes, my Thane. I believe I can help with that."

Lily flashed another winning smile and curtseyed with stereotypically elfin grace. She pulled a knapsack from her dainty shoulder and presented it to the Housecarl.

"Excellent, I _knew_ you were the right woman for the job. Would you be so kind as to carry this for me?"

She deposited the surprisingly heavy satchel into Lydia's unprotesting hands and casually sauntered off into the daylight. As one of the Guardsmen politely opened the door for her, she thanked him sweetly. Lydia could somehow tell that he was blushing under the helmet…

"Well… I am _sworn_ to carry your burdens…" Lydia said disdainfully, staring at the satchel as if it were the cause of all her woes.

* * *

The sun had long since fled behind the Wrothgarian Mountains by the time Lily's shopping trip had drawn to a close. Lydia had faithfully dragged herself all across the markets, acting as something between a tour guide and a mule while the new Thane stopped to chat with any and everyone she passed. Honestly, Lydia found the whole experience baffling, watching helplessly as the Elf seemed to make friends everywhere she went.

They had by now spent almost an hour outside Warmaiden's chatting with Adrianne regarding some adjustments to a suit of leather armour that Lily was hoping to take away the next morning. Even the prickly smith found herself caught up in Lily's enthusiastic fascination with the mundanities of Nordic life. Her wide-eyed glee at a cheaply smithed iron helmet was a sight to behold. She saw it sitting on Adrianne's workbench and immediately snapped it up, plopping it on her head without a moment's hesitation. She struck what she assumed to be a fierce pose, staring out as the ill-fitting mask wobbled uselessly.

"Should I be wearing something like this, Lydia? Is this the sort of thing _'True Nord Warriors'_ are seen to wear?" She strutted up and down for a few paces like an artist's muse, striking feminine poses at key intervals. Such behaviour tore a snort of laughter from even stone-faced Adrianne, but Lydia's now permanent look of confusion was unmoved.

"Uhh… I would recommend against it, my Thane. This style of helmet is popular among those too young and inexperienced to know better. It's the sort of thing you wear when you're trying to _look_ impressive, but it's less than useless in an actual fight."

She scratched the back of her head exasperatedly as Lily's face sank a little, as she was clearly still quite taken with the helmet.

"Whatever's the matter with it? I think it makes me look positively _fearsome!_ Don't you agree, Adrianne?"

The smith tried to busy herself with the tanning rack but couldn't help smiling lopsidedly at the girl.

"Oh, I'm all aquiver at the sight of you, Miss Lily." She deadpanned flawlessly, tightening the cords on a cowskin meticulously to avoid eye contact. The Aldmeri smiled victoriously and put her hand on her hip in triumph.

"See, _Adrianne_ thinks I look fearsome."

Lydia resisted the urge to sigh, instead reverting to her martial experience. She temporarily forgot that she was dealing with the Thane of Whiterun and not some new hayseed recruit and gave one of the silly goat horns a sharp tug, eliciting a squeak of shock from the wearer.

"Ow! What was the meaning of _that?!_ " Lily yelped woundedly, attempting to restore the 'fearsome' look the helmet had once bestowed upon her with little success.

"Horns _look_ impressive, but in a melee they're a liability. Anything that someone can get hold of is a way they can bring you into range for a fatal blow." Lydia stated matter-of-factly, reaching for another of the helmets on the workbench. This one was a better example, bereft of silly horns and with a mail skirt to protect the neck.

"Try this one, instead." She offered the helm to Lily, who peevishly placed the iron one back on Adrianne's bench. It was a better fit, but the thin lips pouted, and the large eyes drooped.

"I don't care for this one at _all_ …" She said, pulling the steel off with a jingle. "Maybe I don't need a helmet _so_ desperately for now. Shall I come by in the morning for the leathers, Adrianne?"

The smith looked at nothing in particular as she did some minor mental arithmetic.

"I should have it all ready to go tonight, you can stop by in the morning to pick it up. If that's no good, I can always send Ulfberth over to the tavern to leave it with Hulda? You'll be staying at the Bannered Mare, yes?"

Lily looked to Lydia for clarification, and Lydia in turn nodded in confirmation.

"That's correct. I'll be staying for tonight and hopefully heading out tomorrow."

Adrianne nodded and spat viscously into her open palm, holding it out towards the suddenly horrified Elf. Lydia embarked on what she considered the first of her official Housecarl duties and spat into her own palm, solidly grasping Adrianne's outstretched arm and shaking forcefully. The blacksmith accepted this with her trademark stoicism and went back to her work in silence. Considering the matter closed, Lydia turned to lead the Thane to the tavern. She tried very hard to ignore the unmoving mask of _utter horror_ on the Elf's delicate face…

* * *

Camilla Valarius was sat by the fire, poring over an _extremely_ dog-eared copy of 'The Lusty Argonian Maid' while her new assistant was organising the shop's inventory. Usually at this point in the narrative, the brave Crantius Colto would have assumed the form of either the silver-tongued Sven or the _deliciously_ lithe Faendal, but today it just wasn't happening.

She had a different archetype forming in her mind now. Where once soft, unhardened arms would do, she could now only see Crantius as a powerfully built Adonis in full plate. The strong line of his jaw and the steely gaze of his eyes was enough to ignite a fire in Camilla's chest, and she knew that there was no going back to simple-headed local boys for her.

"Miss Valarius, firewood stacking duties are complete!" With a clang of armour plates, her new assistant returned to the front parlour, a mild sheen of sweat upon his brow. Camilla quickly tossed the book into a nearby cooking pot, hoping that he hadn't seen it.

"I await your command!" The knight announced in his strong, authoritative baritone. Camilla failed to notice the glass bottles rattling on the shelves as he spoke, so entranced was she by his manly bearing. It took her a long moment to reply, but the knight gave no indication that he noticed her flustered countenance.

"Oh! Um, well I don't actually _have_ anything else that I need you to do…" She said with a touch of sadness. She racked her brain for a task so labour intensive that it might convince him to shed some of that armour he was trussed up in…

The knight himself accepted her statement with a resolute nod of the head, taking a step forward to ask a question of his own.

"Excellent, well given that you are somewhat less busy than you were previously, may I ask you some questions regarding any travellers that may have passed through here in the past few days?"

Camilla was upset that the question didn't involve whether she was free to take a walk along the river but took a moment to think about it regardless.

"Well… There _were_ a group of ruffians who came through a short while ago, one of them stole Lucan's lucky golden claw and fled up to Bleak Falls Barrow with it… Although that was almost a week ago now…"

The knight seemed disappointed with her answer, stroking his chin pensively with a mailed hand. He turned away from her to think, and Camilla pouted forlornly. She noticed the impressively large Zweihander strapped to his back. It was bigger than even the claymores and battle-axes she had seen Guardsmen carry on occasion. He must have had a _truly_ impressive physique to even hold such a weapon…

"Local traders are supposed to be a prime source of information…" He muttered wearily, giving a tired sigh. Camilla felt that she was losing his interest, so she racked her brain for anything else of note.

" _Oh!_ An Imperial soldier came down from Helgen the other day, had an Elf girl with him. Sven told me that they stopped at Alvor's house for the night, then the girl moved on. I wouldn't know where, though."

 _This_ provoked a better reaction, as the knight turned around with a look of genuine astonishment on his strong features.

"You saw Lady Elsinore?! Was she unharmed? Was the Imperial soldier her protector or her captor?!"

He stopped short of shaking her, but clearly wanted to. Camilla was quite taken aback by his sudden enthusiasm.

"Umm… I didn't _see_ her, actually. I'm sure Alvor or that soldier she was travelling could tell you more if you asked though…"

The knight hopped with barely contained energies, which was all the more impressive for the nearly 50 pounds of armour and sword that just hopped with him.

"I must resume the pursuit at once!"

He turned to storm out of the shop, and Camilla panicked.

"Wait!" She cried frantically, hoping that the juggernaut would come back, possibly sweeping her into his arms as if she were a scale-less Lifts-her-Tail. The knight turned back quizzically, and Camilla couldn't quite think of what the next part of her plan would be…

"Umm… I haven't had a chance to thank you for all your help around the shop." She almost whispered, trying to make her lips look more… pouty? The knight smiled with a little warmth and stood to attention.

"Nay, it is _I_ who should thank _you_ for your assistance!"

He turned around once more, his hand upon the wobbly door knob. Camilla's eyes darted to it in fear, desperately clawing for something flirtatious or charming she could say that would encourage the knight to stay.

"Wait! I don't even know your name! Won't you tell me that at least?" She cried, trying to pull the neckline of her dress down an inch or two to create a sense of what the knight might have referred to as _décolletage_.

The knight turned around once more, with a look on his face that implied that he had genuinely forgotten to introduce himself, an egregious sin that was not pardoned by the franticness of his pursuit. He stood at attention and saluted by placing a mailed fist against his chest.

"Oh _heavens!_ Have my manners so easily deserted me?! I am Captain Dashiell de Beaumont, Seneschal to House Elsinore and Commander of the Knights of Secunda."

He bowed graciously, and Camilla felt her heart fluttering within her (partially exposed) breast. As her eyelids also fluttered briefly, she heard at the edges of perception the slamming of a door, and with a start she realised that the knight had barged out without another word.

She sighed forlornly to herself, fanning her warm cheeks with one hand while fishing around in the cooking pot for her book.

"Well done Camilla… You chased him off like a pro…" She muttered poutily, settling back down to her book with a final huff of despair.

* * *

"Wait-wait-wait… Go back to the part about the execution, I don't understand why _you_ were there."

Lydia hadn't touched the iron tankard in front of her in nearly half an hour, so stunned was she at the story unfolding before her. Lily was idly stirring a bowl of soup that was by now tepid and fast approaching cold, her animated features contorting and reshaping themselves as she spoke.

"Oh, how _ghastly_ it was, Lydia! So, there we were all trussed up like piglets off to market, herded in front of these Legionnaires with lists. They were sorting those blue-clad Storm-people and calling their names. They shot that poor horse-thief when he panicked, and then they called me up. _Naturally_ I was not on the list, and so I firmly communicated my displeasure at the rude treatment I had undergone."

Lily's lips curled into a mildly embarrassed smirk, and she demurely placed a hand over her eyes in shame.

"They… well, everybody was so busy watching me argue with the Captain that nobody noticed the Dragon until it landed on top of the Keep…"

A roaring belly-laugh echoed from the opposite corner as Uthgerd sprayed a column of mead over Mikael's back, and Lydia belatedly realised that the entire tavern was as transfixed as she was by the tale.

Who could blame them, though? The new Thane of Whiterun, possibly even the _legendary Dragonborn_ herself, was telling a story that would have been dismissed as a crass deception from anyone else. However, something about the utterly naive earnestness Lily radiated made it quite impossible to disbelieve her.

" _She_ _argued with the headsman!_ " Uthgerd cried, tears of laughter running down her face. The rest of the tavern took the opportunity to join her. Lydia wasn't really known as a mirthful person to the citizens of Whiterun, so nobody seemed to mind her stunned silence. Hearing the whole story had made her acutely aware of the fact that Lily had done more exciting things in the last three days than Lydia had in the last three years…

Hulda shuffled over from the bar herself to clear the table, chuckling merrily as she took away the soup and a gave the table a cursory wipe down with a rag.

"Anything else, Thane?" She asked jovially. Lily primly dabbed a tissue against her lips and gave an expressive shrug.

"Actually Miss Hulda, I think it might be wise for me to turn in for the night. May I please be shown to a room?"

She maintained that prim politeness irrespective of who she was talking to, which the locals _clearly_ appreciated. Hulda's lips curled into a self-satisfied smile, so happy was she to be spoken to like a Lady _by_ a Lady.

"Oh of course, Miss Lily! Won't you follow me?" She turned and walked away with a definite spring in her step, and the two travellers followed. She led them upstairs to the generous guest room overlooking the tavern's main space, and Lily yawned expressively, her ears drooping with exhaustion.

"How marvellous, Miss Hulda. This will do _wonderfully_. I wonder if I could trouble someone to prepare a bath for me?"

Hulda strode out to the mezzanine and called down to her tavern girl, who was clearing tables while trying (unsuccessfully) to avoid being pinched on the backside by slurring patrons.

"Saadia darling, could you start boiling some water and shuttling it up here?"

A muted 'Yes, Mum…' floated up from the floor and Lydia inwardly groaned. There was no way she was going to get out of hauling buckets of hot water up here for half the night…

"Capital, simply _capital!_ " Lily said, placing a dainty hand over her mouth to yawn once again.

"Also, would someone kindly direct me to the washroom? I should like to freshen up before bed."

Lydia and Hulda shared a look of complete confusion at this, having never heard of a 'washroom' before. Lily took a moment to think about how best to rephrase the question, a dainty finger tapping against her equally dainty chin.

"Oh, you _know_ , a water-closet? A toilette? A… _privy?_ "

That last one forced a spark of recognition from the hostess, who snapped her fingers triumphantly and fished around under the bed for a moment. She returned with an unassuming wooden bucket, which she deposited on the floor with a happy smile.

Unfortunately, it didn't go over _quite_ as well as she thought it would. Lily's face was frozen in a rictus of unparalleled fear and anguish, her hands balled tightly into fists as if she would need to fight her way out of the room. Lydia bit down the urge to laugh at the scene.

"Oh dear… oh my… oh _dear…_ That simply won't do at all… not at _all…_ oh no… oh my…"

Lydia and Hulda shared a look and left Lily in her state of apoplexy, heading down to fetch a tub and hot water to fill it.

* * *

After leaving the Bannered Mare, Lydia returned to the guard barracks for what might be the last time in a long while. The day-shifters were all drinking a toast to those who had been killed by the Dragon at the Eastern Watchtower. She hadn't really known Hroki or Tor all that well, but every guardsman would make an appearance at some point during the night.

Guardsmen had an unusual way of mourning their dead, and they were incredibly protective of their fallen no matter where they came from. Lydia was sat next to Wutra, who was tipsily dispensing wisdom to a couple of the newer recruits while deep into his cups.

"Now listen, lads… This is the way it _has_ to be for us in the Guard, right? When one of your own goes to Tsun for his judging, _you_ take care of it. You have a whip-round. Wreath, coffin, _the lot_. You don't let _anyone_ else do it, even if the Jarl himself offers. We Guardsmen take care of our own, and their families are _our_ families too."

He lazily stuffed his pipe with weeds as the other guardsmen nodded thoughtfully. Lydia had already made her contribution to said whip-round, asking Wutra to take her share from the money in her sack. She knew that Wutra could be trusted with her savings, as for all his talk he actually _did_ believe in the brotherhood of Guardsmen. She took another slug of the warm mead and thought about what she might need to do before leaving.

With some sadness, she realised that she wouldn't need to tell anyone that she was going, because it wasn't like she had any friends or relatives in town to convey the news to. Nobody would miss her once she had gone, even amongst the other Guardsmen she was anonymous, and that wasn't likely to change…

"Hey, Lydia! Tell us about the Thane, won't you? What's she like?"

"Yes, tell us Lydia!"

Several guardsmen had sauntered over, and Lydia was suddenly involved in more conversations than she'd had all year before this. A crowd quickly formed around her, full of congratulations and toasts to her good fortune. All of them were chomping at the bit to learn more about the Thane and Lydia's appointment as a Housecarl. Though there was a great deal of jealousy among the other guards, it was all in good spirits really, and Lydia became the hero of the hour as she told them all about the Thane.

* * *

Lydia had been up at dawn, as was her habit. She was leaning against the well in the market, idly staring at the door of the Bannered Mare and waiting for it to swing open as Hulda or Saadia began their day. She was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed compared to most of her compatriots, who were sullenly stumbling around their patrols like headless Draugr.

She had spent some portion of the morning working on her own armour, figuring out which parts could be altered or discarded to make it a little more comfortable for extended travel. She had discarded the ill-fitting pauldrons and re-stitched a couple of rough patches on the inner lining of her greaves. She had left the last of her things with Wutra and asked him to put any remaining pay she might get in with her things until she returned.

There was little point travelling with too much coin, so she had a scant 30 septims to make do with for now. No doubt there would be opportunities to gain more as they travelled. Every inn they stayed at would surely need firewood chopped or vegetables picked, and she could pay her own way doing odd jobs while her Thane rested or did whatever they meant to do.

Finally, Hulda tossed open the door and manhandled a heavy bucket full of slops for the pig-pens out into the daylight. Everyone in Whiterun knew never to let anything go to waste, and even scraps could keep the city's pigs and chickens well fed for a septim or two. Saadia followed her out with armfuls of clothing and linens, no doubt for washing in the river. She saw a washboard tucked tightly under the girl's arm, the wooden edges almost bleached white through years of use.

Lydia gave each of them a perfunctory greeting before stepping past and into the tavern itself. Sinmir was sprawled out across his favourite bench, snoring atrociously and scratching himself in ways that no waking man would want a lady to see. Lydia wrinkled her nose at the mouthy old drunk and proceeded up the staircase, knocking gently at the door to the guest room.

"Do come in!" Came Lily's girlish voice through the wood, and Lydia stepped into the room quietly. The Thane of Whiterun was gathering the last of her effects into a satchel, and making some adjustments to her travelling leathers, which must have been delivered last night from Warmaiden's. Lydia had to admit that Adrianne did good work, the armour fitted the Elf's slender frame perfectly, allowing for excellent range of movement while still protecting key areas.

Lily threw her colourful travelling cloak over the armour and turned to face her guest.

"Oh, good morning Lydia. Did you sleep well?"

Lydia was momentarily confused by the question, not expecting a noblewoman to be concerned with such banalities. She quickly remembered that Lily was constantly trying to be friendly and chided herself for being so critical.

"Yes, thank you my Thane. I stand ready and await your commands."

She stood at attention as if she were speaking with Commander Caius, but Lily just giggled and placed her hands on her hips.

"Lydia _please!_ I insist that you call me Lily _this instance!_ I've no interest in travelling with someone who won't even look me in the _eye_ for fear of being tossed in the dungeons!"

Lydia tried to correct herself in a panic, pointedly looking the girl in her enormous green eyes. She noticed the intricate patterning of the irises, which seemed more complex than any human eye might be.

"Umm… I… I'm not _afraid_ of you, Lily. I just… it would be _disrespectful_ to treat you as my equal, given your station here in the city. I meant no harm by it, I can assure you."

Lydia suddenly felt very uncomfortable in her own skin, she went to run a hand through her hair reflexively, realising a moment too late that it was the hand her shield was strapped to.

The heavy steel rim collided with her forehead, transferring enough force to make Lydia's head spin, and she tossed out a hand to grab the doorframe. She managed to stay upright, but any dignity she still possessed fell down the stairs in her place, never to return.

"Oh, _Lydia!_ Are you alright?!" Lily cried, rushing forward to grab Lydia's aching head. The strangely intimate contact shocked Lydia into silence.

Maybe she _was_ scared of Lily?

As the slim fingers touched the portion of Lydia's head which must _surely_ have been dented by the force of the impact, an unearthy golden glow spread from them. Lydia immediately felt the throbbing pain subside, and the room around her stopped spinning and settled once again into blessed inactivity.

"A healing spell… are you a priestess?" Lydia said with barely disguised wonder in her voice. Lily only smiled, her twinkling eyes crinkled with mirth.

"Oh, nothing so involved as _that_ , but I've had some magical training in preparation for my travels as it happens."

She checked the forehead once more for any signs of damage and then stepped back, happy with her work.

"There you are, good as new. Shall we make our way then?" Lily said happily, depositing her (somehow _even heavier_ ) satchel into Lydia's armoured hands and sauntering down the stairs.

Lydia awkwardly shouldered the satchel and followed, still somewhat in a daze for reasons that she couldn't _entirely_ pin down.

She was willing to attribute it to the healing spell for now, though.

They both strode out into the open light of the market, striding placidly towards the main gate. There was a minor hubbub as the locals turned to gawp at and gossip about the new Thane, and Lydia attempted to make herself small.

It was no use… No matter how she carried herself, she was still taller than even most Nords. Lily was like a lighthouse beacon attracting the stares of the common folk, and Lydia hated having to stand next to her. Even more infuriating was the fact that the Elf seemed so _supernaturally unbothered_ by the attention. She waved to the people as she passed, often greeting them by name as if they had been old friends for years.

The guards of the main gate saw her coming and scrambled to pull the heavy oaken gates open, and Lydia detected a couple of _actual_ cheers as they left the city. When the gates were finally sealed behind them, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"Right. Now, which way is Markarth?"

Lily's question threw Lydia's train of thought in another new direction. Weren't they supposed to be heading up to High Hrothgar to meet with the ancient order of the Greybeards?

"Um… Markarth, my Thane? Aren't we… that would be in the _opposite_ direction of the Throat of the World."

Lily paused with a thoughtful look on her face, tapping her chin with one long finger.

"Oh, you mean that 'Dragonborn' business, yes? Not to worry, we'll get to that in due course. I actually have it on my to-do list."

She fished into her cloak and pulled out a small brown journal, gently opening to the last page she had worked. Lydia saw the delicate, billowy handwriting she had been expecting, and a bullet-pointed list of tasks.

Lydia noted with incredulity that 'Meet with the Greybeards to investigate the veracity of their Dragonborn theory' was third on the list, below 'Check on Tilly' and 'Go to the Bank'.

"See? First, we're going to a place called 'The Reach' to meet with my sister, it's all down here."

As quickly as it appeared, the journal was whipped back into the confines of her cloak. Lily beamed at Lydia, happy that the confusion about their plans was resolved. Lydia did not beam, as this was very much not the case.

However, Lily _was_ the Thane… and it wasn't like the Greybeards had a particularly hectic schedule to keep, after all…

"Well, in that case… Markarth is probably about six days west of here if we travel the safer route. If we head north at the Western Watchtower, we'll have the villages of Rorikstead and Karthwasten to rest and resupply at."

Lily huffed daintily as she looked westward, evidently not liking the notion of six days on the road.

"You called it the 'safer' route, may I infer that there is a faster route available?"

Lydia pursed her lips with concern. She was _hoping_ that Lily wouldn't notice that…

"Yes, my Thane. There is a more direct route that could have us there in maybe three days, but there would be no inns or villages along the route that _I_ know of… and there are several bandit clans roaming the cliffs of the Reach. If I may speak freely, we would be tempting fate to travel that route."

Lydia spoke with a quiet severity that she hoped conveyed her seriousness, but it was utterly lost on Lily, who merely gripped her shoulder supportively.

"Tempting is a fine aspiration, Lydia. We should _all_ strive to be _tempting_ from time to time. Lead on!"

The best she could manage was to convince Lily that some camping supplies would be needed for such a journey, and the Khajiiti traders pricked up their ears at the sight of them.


	2. Chapter 2: Dine and Dashiell

_Author's Note: So this second chapter is a little shorter, designed to break up the narrative by checking in with Captain Dashiell Beaumont, a venturesome defender of House Elsinore._

 _The Elsinores are Altmer by blood but actually live in High Rock, and as such their culture is distinctively High-Rockian in nature._

 _This makes them (to my mind) predominantly Medieval French in temperament and training. Captain Beaumont is technically a Breton, but is much taller and broader than others of his breeding (solid, high quality meals and life-long martial training tend to produce that result). He's taller even than most Nords, and has enough raw strength to pull a man's arms off by grabbing each hand and yanking in opposite directions._

 _However, he's from High Rock. The Seneschal to a noble house, no less. He needs to comport himself appropriately. He is impossibly polite, no matter the situation. He is also completely impossible to flirt with. Apparently he **really** does something for the women of Skyrim, so he doesn't get when people are flirting with him because **every woman he's ever met has been flirting with him**._

 _He just assumes that's how women talk._

* * *

The sun was setting as Captain Beaumont strode into the Whiterun marketplace, burdened with terrible purpose. The gate guards had taken one look at the steel-clad juggernaut and elected not to raise a fuss. He recognised their behaviour as that of guardsmen everywhere and carried himself with a gait that they instinctively interpreted as 'Commander'.

This was technically true, but he of course possessed no actual authority over any lawman in Skyrim. Nevertheless, he knew that as long as he spoke and acted like someone they should obey, they would do so without a second thought.

Many of the stall owners were packing up for the evening, and he picked one at random to begin his investigation. A greengrocer was chiding her daughter as they packed apples into a wooden box together, and Beaumont walked over primly.

"Good evening, Madam. I am Captain Dashiell Beaumont, Seneschal of House Elsinore and Commander of the Knights of Secunda. I wonder if I might take a moment of your time?"

The woman irritably thrust a handful of unsold apples into the box before turning to face the new interloper.

" _Sure_ you are, friend. I bet you're just _itching_ to get that mom-"

Her expression morphed from rage to slack-jawed amazement at the chiselled features of the knight before her. She reflexively tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and appraised him for an uncomfortably long moment.

At least… It _would_ have been uncomfortable if Beaumont had even noticed her reaction. As it was, he merely waited for her reply with his characteristic polite deference.

"Umm… How may I help… _Captain,_ was it?" She whispered breathily. Her daughter frowned at the both of them in confusion. This _wasn't_ how it usually went…

"Mama, why aren't you telling him to go dunk his head in the river?" She asked with the childish innocence that exists _exclusively_ to get adults in trouble.

Carlotta Valentia's eyes nearly popped from her skull in embarrassment, and she turned to her daughter Mila to stare daggers while responding in the sweetest voice she could muster.

"Mila! I would _never_ say something so rude to the nice man! What possessed you to think I would say a thing like that?" She said through gritted teeth with a voice that implied butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

Mila unfortunately failed to pick up the message and ploughed on while absent-mindedly picking her nose.

"Because you said that all men are fetchers and curs who only think with their little heads… only… boys only got one head, so I don't know what you mean about that…"

Carlotta's right eye twitched manically as she stared into her daughter's uncomprehending face.

"I would _never_ say anything so crass as that, Mila. Why don't you… go play with Braith for a bit?"

Mila continued digging for gold with her pointer finger, entirely incapable of reading the cues her mother was broadcasting at her.

"Braith's a big meanie! I don't want to play with her anymore…" She said petulantly.

Carlotta's twitching eye threatened to pop clean out of its socket and her already strained smile stretched tighter.

"Then go home and pack the fruit away for tomorrow." She said icily.

Mila stomped her tiny feet to protest this enormous injustice, but recognised at least that something weird was up and if there was a way to get out of stacking fruit in the larder for tomorrow she would take it.

"Nevermind, I'll go find Braith and Lars. Bye, mister!"

She turned around and sprinted away, and Carlotta stifled a sigh of relief before turning back to the almost preternaturally patient knight before her.

"Sorry about that, you know how children can be… I'm sure yours are just the same. Carlotta Valentia, a _pleasure_ to meet you, Captain." She said this while arranging her face into a sultry gaze she had almost forgotten how to make.

If the dashing Captain noticed it, he gave no visible sign.

"I am likewise charmed to make your acquaintance, Madam Valentia." Beaumont bowed ornately in a way that made Carlotta's heart flutter a little bit.

"To answer your question, I am afraid that I have no children, having yet to take a wife. However, if I might ask but a few questions I shall leave you to attend to your daughter's needs."

" _No wife, interesting…"_ Carlotta thought to herself with a satisfaction that surprised her in its intensity.

"Oh, I'm in _no_ rush, Captain… Now, why don't you tell me what brings a strapping military man such as you into town?" She asked, trying to coat her words in as much honey as she could.

Once again, the Captain failed to notice a thing.

"I am currently looking for a young woman of Aldmeri descent, who I am told was travelling to this city to deliver a message to your Jarl. Perhaps you have seen her?"

Carlotta scanned the knight's hard face for any further context she could gleam. "Lily's _clearly_ too young to be his lover… although maybe I'm being naïve there? Elves are supposed to live for hundreds of years, she could be older than _me!_ " She thought to herself as the knight awaited her response.

Honestly, that last thought was voiced a little cattily as Carlotta wasn't used to being upstaged by other women, and the new Thane had _certainly_ turned heads in the short time she'd been in town…

"I think you might be talking about the new Thane, Miss Lily?"

The knight finally reacted, slamming both hands on the stall counter with a look of shock in his steely grey eyes.

"Lady Elsinore has entered the city?! Where is she now?"

Carlotta was taken back by his sudden fit of excitement and stuttered a little before replying.

"Oh… Been and gone, I'm afraid… She left town today."

She wished she had a better answer to give, as the knight's features sank into abject despair before her very eyes. His shoulders drooped with an audible squeak and his strong jaw hung as if on strings.

Carlotta felt like she'd just accidentally sent a puppy flying with an errant foot. She resisted the urge to reach out and hug him, but _only just._

"Oh, now don't be down about it, Captain Beaumont. I'm sure she only left this a short while ago, you can catch up to her in the morning, I'm sure."

Some of the colour returned to the soldier's face, and he snapped back to attention as if high-tension wires had been yanked taught by some unseen hand.

"Of course! I must set out _immediately!_ Please tell me where Lady Elsinore was going, if you would be so kind Madam."

The soldier stopped just short of hopping with barely contained joy. Carlotta found herself feeling somewhat sour at his devotion to the Elf girl but bit it down.

"Uh, well won't you want to stay for the night at least? The sun's gone down now, you'll never find them in the dark. Come along, I'm sure I can find you a bed at my house for the evening, at least have some food and rest before heading out. She'll be safe for another day, she has that… uh… _Housecarl_ , that's it. She has a Housecarl appointed by the Jarl, so she'll be protected for the time being."

The soldier's brow furrowed in what she might have thought of as an interrogatory fashion. Nevertheless, she still considered it a handsome expression on his strong face. As a delayed reaction her cheeks began to blush furious, as if just realising that she had offered him a bed in _her house…_

"Oh dear… I said that part out loud, didn't I?" She thought (to herself, this time) with girlish nervousness.

"Lady Elsinore is travelling with a companion, a House-Carl you say? Is that akin to a Seneschal? Forgive me, but I am not as familiar with Skyrim's traditions as I might be."

Carlotta sensed her opportunity, and immediately pounced on it.

"Well, if you'd care to assist me in getting the last of these boxes to my home, I'd be happy to tell you everything you may need to know, and you can set out in the morning for the Throat of the World. I'm sure you'll be able to catch Miss Lily with no trouble."

She smiled as coquettishly as she could, thrusting a box of apples up to the counter for him to take. Being an almost pathologically polite man, Beaumont bowed to obligation and reached out for it, only for another hand to bat it away.

Carlotta's sultry gaze evaporated into her much more comfortable gaze of irritable prickliness as Mikael helped himself to an apple and bit into it with a smug grin on his face.

"This tin-plated milk-drinker _bothering you_ , Carlotta? Want me to move him along for you."

Carlotta's mood soured further as she noted that Mikael was already _at least_ four drinks in to his evening revels. Her eyes narrowed as she made every attempt to ignite his lumpy face with her mind. Would _nobody_ in this town give her a break, tonight?

"Leave me alone, Mikael. The _Captain_ and I were having a _private discussion_." She hissed through gritted teeth.

Captain Beaumont simply appraised the situation, not wanting to wade in until knowing the facts. Mikael took no such attitude, however. He turned to face the armoured Captain and shot him a cocky glare.

"You better stay away from _my woman_ , stranger. Or I'm liable to show you how we Nords deal with fetchers like you. Don't worry about whatever this one wants, Carlotta. Just focus on looking pretty for me, alright?"

The Captain's face betrayed no emotion, and he merely stood his ground. He looked to Carlotta with a gracefully apologetic look.

"I am _dreadfully_ sorry, Miss Valentia. Would you excuse me for just one moment?" He said with utmost civility.

Carlotta was so unused to people being… _polite_ to her that she merely nodded in numb shock. The Captain gave a small nod of the head and turned back to Mikael.

"May I borrow you for a moment, Mister… Mikael, was it?"

Rather than waiting for an answer, one mailed hand was placed on the Bard's shoulder and they both stepped away from the cart for a moment. While to Carlotta's untrained eye the grip looked perfectly friendly, she noted that Mikael had turned bone white and his lip was trembling.

She couldn't make out any of the conversation, and frankly she didn't mind as long as Mikael left and… _Dashiell_ stayed. Another flutter in her chest as she used his first name, even in soliloquy. The informal huddle continued for a minute or so, Beaumont whispering to the silent Mikael. After some point was made, the Captain led Mikael back to the fruit stall.

"Thank you for your patience, I believe Mister Mikael has something he would like to say to you. Isn't that right, Mister Mikael?"

Carlotta almost belatedly noticed Mikael, who looked about as lively as a long-interred Draugr. She noticed with surprise that his eyes were watering heavily.

"I apologise for my rude behaviour towards you, Miss Valentia. Not only today but extending backwards in per… _per-pe-tuity_. This boorish behaviour was… _unbecoming_ of a gentleman and will not happen again."

Captain Beaumont smiled as Mikael gave his unusually clipped apology, watching as Mikael's voice began rising to a high wheeze as the sentences fell out of him.

The bard glanced fearfully towards Beaumont, who smiled curtly and nodded faintly.

"And now I must bid you both goodnight, please enjoy your respective evenings."

Mikael was barely able to speak by this point, veins were bulging in his neck and a couple of large, blobby tears were threatening to drop from his bulging eyes. The Captain's reaction was one of seemingly genuine camaraderie.

"Ah, of course Mister Mikael. Please do not let us detain you." Beaumont said before gently releasing Mikael's shoulder.

With a wheeze of distress, Mikael took off at a light jog, not _quite_ quick enough to hide the tears that were now falling freely from his eyes.

"What did you _say_ to him?!" Carlotta said, quite agog at Mikael's transformation.

Captain Beaumont made a politely demurring gesture, as if he wanted no credit for Mikael's change of heart.

"I simply impressed upon him that good manners would carry him a great deal further in life than poor ones could ever hope to. Should you experience any further harassment from him, I shall be sure to leave a message with the Guardsmen here to remind him of his social responsibilities."

He picked up the crate of apples with no apparent difficulty and walked with her up the stairs towards the Wind District. In no time at all, she stood at her own door. With some trepidation she opened it and walked in, motioning for him to place the apples down in front of the larder.

"Now you should probably stay here for the night, and we can send you off in the morning."

Captain Beaumont smiled politely and delicately placed the box where she motioned. Resuming his military 'at-ease' posture, he removed his morion helmet and placed it gently under his arm.

"I am afraid I cannot tarry any longer. I have been charged with a mission, and I cannot rest until I have completed it."

Carlotta pouted despondently, knowing that tone all too well. He wouldn't be dissuaded, and her feminine charms could _hardly_ be expected to override such a strongly held sense of duty. She sighed softly and walked over to the fruit crates.

"Well, you should at least _eat_ something before you go."

She held a hand up to pre-empt his polite refusal, and Beaumont's mouth primly closed before the protest could escape it.

"I know you won't be sticking around either, so eat it on the road."

She bundled together two apples, some bread and a little cured meat into a cloth bundle, folding it neatly into a little parcel. She walked over and deposited it forlornly into his gargantuan mailed hand, her own dainty hands looking comically small by comparison.

"Make sure to drink plenty of water, as well. I'm sure you've got a waterskin somewhere, so top it off at the well before you leave the city or buy some mead from Elrindir, he runs the pub near the gate."

Her transition to caretaker complete, she stood back and looked the handsome stranger in his steely eye. The Captain's look of honourable duty remained unchanged.

"Miss Valentia, I thank you for your assistance in this matter, but I'm afraid that I have no septims with which to pay you… The shared funds that Miss Elsinore and I were to travel with were unfortunately lost in the Jerall Mountains…"

Gods, even the Captain's look of _embarrassment_ was endearing… Carlotta pursed her lips and bit back a giggle (silently terrified of what her 'giggle' might sound like after not laughing for the better part of a decade…).

"Sir Beaumont, I wouldn't dare ask you for payment. The food is thanks for your help with the fruit and Mikael. If you feel badly about it, you can make it up to me be coming back to town when you find what you're looking for here in Skyrim."

It was a long-shot, but she said it with confidence and a tone that would have caused any man in Whiterun to get a nosebleed… Beaumont simply bowed once again, this one less ornate but vibrating with thankfulness.

"You are entirely too kind, milady. With your permission I shall bid you goodnight and continue my journey. I shall be sure to return your kindness once my mission is concluded. Adieu, Miss Valentia."

With no further ado, Beaumont tucked the parcel into his knapsack and strode back out into the night.

Carlotta belatedly noticed the twisting of her guts and the girlish nervousness that had been steering her through this entire bizarre exchange. She stepped out into the night and saw Mila struggling over with a full bucket of well-water. She wordlessly scooped it out of the girl's unprotesting hands and placed it on the dining table.

Without so much as a backward glance she dunked her entire head into the icy water, feeling her entire body unwind as she did so. When she pulled her head out of the bucket, it was with a triumphant sigh and a mild shiver. It took a long few moments of contemplation to realise that something still felt off.

"Mila."

"Yes, Mama?"

"This isn't well-water, is it?"

"No Mama…"

"You were collecting Frogspawn, weren't you Mila…"

"Yes, Mama."

"Wonderful…"


	3. Chapter 3: For Whom the House Carls

_Author's Notes:_

 _Sorry to those who were waiting for... a slightly quicker turnaround on these chapters. I got a new job and then writer's block and then sort of... forgot about the story._

 _I promise to commit seppuku in the car park later, but for now here is another slightly shorter chapter to get my eye back into it._

 _The first section is a fairly practical advancing of the Lily/Lydia plot, not too much to say about that yet._

 _I wanted to have the Dragons act as palpable characters in their own right, and therefore tried to imagine how a conversation between multiple dragons could go. I'll leave it to you to decide how correct my interpretation of Dovahzul is..._

 _And lastly, the obligatory adventures of Captain Beaumont, as his keen tracking abilities lead him dozens of miles in the exact opposite direction of his target._

 _Marvellous..._

* * *

The two travellers walked along the Karth, with the river to their right and the cliffs to their left. Lily spent most of her time humming merrily to herself or attempting conversation with her companion (although these attempts had decreased somewhat over the past two days…).

Lydia for her part was obsessed with vigilance, fearfully scanning the rocks for signs of… well she didn't _precisely_ know what she was looking for. She _did_ know that she wasn't going to let whatever it was sneak up on them, though. The only sounds in the desolate Reach was the raging froth of the rancid river and the cawing of crows and other carrion birds.

In fact, the birds hadn't made much noise at all for the past hour… which was enough to make the rookie housecarl even more nervous. She had heard stories of the savage Reachmen who lived in the mists, snatching travellers away without so much as a sound. The rational section of her mind told her that it was _pretty damn hard_ to sneak up on anyone when your only cover was a river or a sheer incline.

Unfortunately, the more emotive part of her brain was mostly screaming _"Hagravens are gonna eat your fingernails after prying them off with stone knives! Any second now! There's one! Wait, that's just a dead tre-THERE'S ONE!"_

She acknowledged that this was a patently ridiculous statement, but she also had to concede that it was being yelled loudly and consistently enough that there must be _something_ to it. While her brain was deciding whether to teach the controversy, Lily was her typically unconcerned self.

The Elf had been… a somewhat vexing travel companion, in Lydia's humble opinion. Stopping every 100 feet or so to record or sketch some banal mountain range or a particularly 'interesting' flower that doesn't grow in High Rock, she was endlessly fascinated with what Lydia considered the _least_ interesting aspects of life in Skyrim.

Not that she had a list of things Lily should be more interested in, but all these stops were making her edgy. It wasn't so bad in Whiterun Hold, where someone would have to sprint for an hour straight to sneak up on them. The treacherous, twisty turns of the Reach were a different matter. Also, why was it so Gods-damned _foggy_ all the time?! Mountains shouldn't have such a refined sense of dramatic foreshadowing in Lydia's humble opinion.

Lily was squatting down by the river, sketching something in her journal with one of her fancy pencils. Lydia silently loomed over her shoulder to steal a glance at it.

She was drawing a fish. A damn _fish_.

"Uhh… Miss Lily, why are you…" She couldn't even finish the sentence, but she _did_ have to admit that Lily was a hell of a sketch artist. She'd really captured the brain-dead idiocy in the fish's blobby eye.

"I do believe this is a variant of the Cyrodilic Spadetail, note the distinctive purpling scale pattern and of course the forked tailfin. _Lovely_ specimen, wouldn't you agree?"

Lily turned her enormous eyes to the housecarl with a winsome smile that made it difficult to be upset with her. Lydia's confusion only deepened.

"I… uh… I guess? It ain't quite enough to feed the both of us, though. I don't know that we have the time to stop and cook it, either…"

Lily laughed daintily, delicately placing a hand over her mouth to ensure that the gesture was sufficiently ladylike.

"Lydia! You have a _wicked_ sense of humour!"

With no further admonishment, the girl hopped up and continued on her way. She deposited the journal back into her smaller satchel (having already burdened Lydia with everything that might be considered burdensome…) and left the poor Nord woman frowning confusedly.

"I… _do?_ " She whispered to no-one in particular.

"Not really. Dat fish too small for eatin… Makes pretty good fish-paste for sandwiches doe..."

The deep voice was accompanied by the distinct feeling of a very thin and very _sharp_ object being gently placed into Lydia's ear canal. Her hindbrain caused her entire body to freeze in place, not wanting to share it's living-space with an arrowhead in the near future.

The owner of the voice gave a loud whistle and suddenly every patch of damp grass for a hundred yards stood bolt-upright, each of them now bristling with vicious-looking weapons of flint and wood.

"Miss, you will be givin' up dat satchel or I will be shootin' you in your face wif' dis arrow wot I am pointin' at you at dis moment." The voice spoke with an authority borne of certainty, and Lydia didn't doubt for a moment that her skull would receive a sudden and very _unwelcome_ skylight should she fail to comply.

Nevertheless, she looked to Lily first.

She would only drop the satchel at her order, and that was that.

The Thane of Whiterun's face was… well, it would have been hilarious if someone _else_ was receiving an ear-massage from a deadly weapon. Her already large eyes had swollen even more, and her cheeks were puffed out, her hands were curled into fists and she seemed to be vibrating on the spot.

She looked every bit like a small child on the verge of a tantrum.

"How _rude!_ Were you all raised in a BARN?! I _demand_ to speak to whomever is in charge _this instance!_ "

The heavily armed savages all seemed to take a step back, and Lydia felt the arrowhead leaving her ear. Evidently the bandits of Skyrim had yet to encounter the ancient Aldmeri art of Shau-Teng, and were long overdue for an introduction…

"Wot?" Came the reply from the fur-clad guerrilla, his confusion rolling off him like a mist.

Lydia took this moment to subtly reposition herself, making sure not to spook anyone. Her movements were not enough to draw attention, but her feet were now shifted to evenly distribute her weight. If the moment came, she would strike the primitive with the full force of her plate armour, hoping to take him out of the fight before the others could react.

"You heard me! I _demand_ to see your supervisor _immediately!_ " Lily was practically vibrating in place now, and Lydia was entirely convinced that the two of them were about to die.

The moment stretched out into an infinity as the bandits all turned to look at Lily, seeming to notice her for the first time. Lydia prepared to make one last desperate attack to throw them off balance but felt the bandit closest to her pull away before she could.

"Awright. Come on den."

The pelt-clad skirmishers all lowered their weapons and wandered off, no longer interested in the daylight robbery that was formerly their plan for the rest of the afternoon. A hand with the approximate dimensions of a shovel blade roughly shoved Lydia forward, and the two of them joined the strange column. The housecarl couldn't shake the feeling that Lily looked curiously pleased with herself for the duration of the journey.

* * *

A grouping that a passing Etymologist might have called a Weyr or even a _Thunder_ of Dragons clustered around the bones of a fallen comrade, picking over the ruined bones as carefully as their talons would allow.

They gently turned the jawline of the ruined face to and fro, appraising it with their yellow eyes.

They were presently joined by another dragon, this one clearly the Elder of the group.

The key indicator of age in a dragon was size, and this one had sufficient bulk to outfight any two of the others without much effort. It was a wonder he could even get into the air with all that mass, and his earth-shaking entrance to the scene only underscored that.

The newcomer snorted a plume of blackish smoke through calloused nostrils, casting an evil eye over the other dragons and finally coming to rest on the ruined bones of the victim. The other dragons lowered their heads and bared their necks as a sign of deference, and if the Elder noticed he didn't advertise the fact.

With another noxious snort of acrid smoke (escorted by panicked spurts of crackling embers) the Elder shouldered his way past two smaller dragons and came to the body proper. A low rumble came from somewhere deep in his abdomen as he prepared to speak.

"Alright, what do we got?"* He said in a voice that seemed to come from the grave by way of the gravel store.

The other dragons turned back to the body, gesturing animatedly as they spoke one after the other, keeping to their individual disciplines.

"Deceased is one adult male, looks to be relatively young… Post-Akavir if I were a betting worm. Time of death looks to be around two days ago, but we're not going off the condition of the body for obvious reasons…"

This first dragon was white and blue, clearly a fan of ice and frost for at least a few centuries.

"Cause of death looks to be a combination of relatively minor incisions at several points along the belly and tail, several magically administered electrical burns, and one very large incision along the right side of the neck resulting in a severed carotid artery. Death would have taken several minutes under normal circumstances."

The second dragon was laughably young by the Elder's standards but was allowed to be here by virtue of their detailed knowledge of anatomy. The Elder didn't have to like it, though…

"How the hell can you tell all that without any damn flesh on him?"

The old dragon literally bristled with frustration, pining for the good old days where Humans only gave you trouble on the way out when you didn't chew them thoroughly enough...

"If I may, there were shards of steel embedded in the neckbone, at such an angle that we believe the blow was delivered by a broad-headed axe, likely two-handed."

The Elder huffed wearily, casting another eye over the corpse.

"Do we have an I.D. yet?" He said despondently.

"Yeah, subject has been identified as one Mirmulnir. Clean record, no priors. Liked to go down from the mountains and rustle up a few Mortals for breakfast, same as any of us…"

The Elder shook his head forlornly.

"Sad to see it… I suppose I should track down any next of kin, see if they've been revived yet."

He was tip-toeing around the most important question, and knew it would only be a matter of time before someone pointed out the thing he'd figured out as soon as he landed.

"Sir, There's something else…" The youngest dragon spoke up, and the Elder considered writing them up on a charge of 'pointing out the insultingly obvious', but what would be the point? Half of these wormlets hadn't even existed the last time one of these monsters had shown up…

"Someone ate his soul, I know…"

The other dragons cringed a little, not quite willing to admit it so easily.

This sentence carried a lot more weight in Dovahzul, so dragons tended to be careful about saying it out loud.

"Nobody strips bones that quickly, not even Humans. Only scorch marks are from lightning spells, and not even gristle for the crows to pick at."

The Elder turned around and looked at the sky, letting the truth sink in before speaking again.

"We have a Dovahkiin out here…"

If dragons could gasp without starting a fire in their own tracheas, this would be the moment. The younger dragons had likely been formulating their theories, but this was the only explanation. Dragons would know better than to do this to each other, even in a fit of passion. Mortals with Dragon Souls didn't let things like ethics and morals get in their way, though…

"Spread the word, I was a full APS** put out. We have a Dragonborn out there, likely wielding a two-handed weapon and strong enough to crack a dragon's neckbone with it."

The Elder thought a little longer about what to be done in the meantime. It was up to him and his team to catch this demon, and he needed to pre-empt its next move. The problem was that the world had changed a helluva lot since the last time he was alive… Where would a Dovahkiin go? What would they do next?

"Have a patroller fly by the old monastery at the Throat, if I were a Dragonborn, I'd head there first. Tell them to watch their cloacae up there, though. Don't engage, just report back to me, ok?"

The dragons agreed, and all took off in different directions leaving the bones where they sat. There was no point in being sentimental now that they knew the soul had been sucked out of them like so much marrow. The important thing now was to make sure no other empty bones would be found. The Elder huffed sorely and took off with a meaty flap of his leathery wings.

 _Author's Notes:_  
 _*The conversation has much more gravitas in Dovahzul, I assure you._  
 _**All-Points-Shout._

* * *

Captain Beaumont had been keeping an impressive pace for two solid days, and was ready to concede that he would likely collapse if he continued even one more pace without rest.

Luckily the village of Ivarstead loomed ahead. Well… _loomed_ was perhaps an overstatement. 'Timorously squatted' might be a better description.

Nothing more than a handful of small farms and a small traveller's inn. Without even a septim to his name, he came to the bar looking for any work that might be needed in town in order to pay his way.

Unsurprisingly, there was a full laundry-list of work to be done among the villagers. This seemed an inescapable fact of life all across Tamriel. How did these villages even _function_ without a constant stream of adventurers and travellers to do their menial busywork? What possible function could an innkeeper have for half-a-dozen fox pelts? And wouldn't it be more efficient to just set some snares out in their gardens?

Ivarstead's current need was for wood so after a couple of hours of rest, Beaumont had picked up a relatively sturdy-looking wood axe and wandered off into the forest to chop. He had left most of his armour with Wilhelm at the inn, and strode out in just his breeches and boots to go to work.

After an hour or so, he wondered why precisely _he_ needed to be out here, as it seemed that a small crowd had gathered to watch him. Surely if they had time to stare at a stranger chopping wood, they had time enough to _chop it themselves?_ He didn't let it bother him too much, as he wouldn't have been able to pay for his room and board if they suddenly discovered their long-dormant work ethic.

In fact, Beaumont wasn't quite paying close enough attention to see the composition of the crowd, which seemed mostly to consist of the village's female population. They were mostly sat on the roof of Shroud Hearth Barrow, sharing blankets and morsels of picnic food as the Captain worked.

Lynly Star-Sung had contemplated charging a fee, but it wasn't like she owned the Barrow _or_ the blankets they were lying on. She simply resigned herself to the company as Fastred and Temba Wide-Arm busied themselves trying to look like they were doing anything other than what they _were_ doing.

"They don't make them like _him_ out here, do they girls?" She drawled lasciviously, only partially an act to provoke a response.

Fastred was fixated, mere moments from drooling at every swing of the axe. "He's got muscles I didn't even know _existed_ …" She whispered reverently, barely daring to blink for fear of missing something important (while simultaneously not knowing what that would even _be_ ).

Lynly laughed raucously while Temba just dialled up the intensity of her perpetual frown, using every pore to communicate how utterly _beyond_ such trivial gossip she was.

"Ugh, can you not talk like that? He's doing a job and I'm supervising. _You're_ the perverse one, and bringing the girl into it isn't helping your case." Temba folded her arms and remained standing, watching the newcomer hack at a white-skinned Birch tree with little apparent difficulty.

"Oh is _that so_ , Wide-Arm? There are only so many ways to chop down a tree, why does he need to be watched like a toddler, then? You don't watch any of the other loggers out there."

Lynly chided the mill owner, who frankly was a bit of an insufferable bitch at the best of times, and needed taking down a peg wherever possible.

"The other loggers know that I'll tan their ugly hides if they bring me a tree with claw marks on the bark, and he don't." Temba spoke with cast-iron certainty, but Lynly could see she was keeping an _awfully_ close eye on the Captain, even with that in mind.

"Pah, he's been chopping all damn afternoon and he hasn't brought back anything you didn't like. Admit it! You're as smitten as Fastred here!" Fastred gave a small squeak of dissent, but didn't actively deny the charge, so Lynly barrelled on regardless.

"No, in fact you've got it _worse!_ At least Fastred's of an age where she'd chase _anything_ that walked around without a shirt on. Mind you… _you aren't getting any younger, Temba_." Lynly's tone was openly mocking now, and Temba looked ready to snap the wench clean in half.

"What did you say, you _smirking who-_ "

"SOMETHING'S HAPPENING!" Fastred's energetic interruption probably saved Lynly's life, as even Temba's muscular neck snapped round to take note of whatever had unfolded.

The three of them watched as Captain Beaumont dropped a felled tree in the lumberyard, his hand gently placing the axe down in favour of grabbing a water bucket and walking tiredly towards the river.

There wasn't enough oxygen left in their lungs to argue as he filled the bucket with icy river-water, lifting it over his head and pouring the entire thing over his tired body. As the water left the confines of the bucket on its downward journey, time seemed to slow to a crawl.

The girls felt their mouths run dry as a riotous cascade of freezing water collided with his muscular frame. They watched with eyes afraid to blink as singular beads of water traced their way down the iron-hard knots of his pectorals, and his jet-black hair shone in the afternoon sun. Wafts of steamy condensation turned into wisps of steam around him. The cold of the water compelled the knight to shiver, his every muscle tensing tighter as his skin cooled.

The three women watched in utter silence as he began trekking back towards the copse in search of his latest victim. After a long moment of silent contemplation their silence was broken by Fastred, who gently brought herself to her feet, dusting her dress off primly.

"I have to go now." She said woodenly, a cold sweat shining from her brow as she slowly walked back towards her father's farm.

Temba watched the knight for a few moments longer, hoping to give the impression that her interest was purely professional. Presumably after counting to ten and back in her head, she made a noise of derision and started skulking away.

"I'll be in my bunk…" She grunted by way of explanation, leaving Lynly alone with her picnic food. The barmaid carved a slice of apple with her knife, happily watching as the stranger took a swing at a healthy-looking birth.

Her eyes twinkled with joy as she realised that the stranger's torso was actually _glistening…_

She promised to send up a prayer to Dibella after her shift. If she could do so from _his_ room, all the better…

* * *

 _Author's Final Note:_

 _As always, I'd deeply appreciate any comments or critique anyone would like to provide, and indeed if you have any ideas about where you'd like the story to go or which characters you'd like to follow more closely please let me know! It's always encouraging to get feedback from readers, and I'd certainly appreciate it._


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